


It's a Sin to Kill a Mockingbird

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, To Kill A Mockingbird - Freeform, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:33:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4726094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Married Shoot prompt- The team's new number is a four year old girl who recently lost her parents. The girl takes an instant liking to Root, so she stays with Root while the team tries to identify the threat. Root starts to bond with her, and nearly cries when the girl draws her a picture of herself, Root, Shaw. After the threat is dealt with they find the girl's aunt, leading to a tearful goodbye. Shaw finds Root that night crying in their bed clutching the drawing and goes to comfort her wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Sin to Kill a Mockingbird

**Author's Note:**

> I have been advised to warn you (via POIfan) that you should NOT read this prompt in public- unless you are okay with tearing up around other people.

"So  _you're_  telling  _me_  someone's put out a hit on a  _four_  year old," Sameen Shaw states distastefully, skeptical eyes set on Harold Finch as she takes a seat on the subway station's bench.

"A  _missing_  four year old," he corrects, ice in his tone. The two stare at each other a minute, the seconds ticking by in fatal silence. Shaw shakes her head.

"You sure your little computer robot doesn't just have a bug or something?" She asks, turning away from him and carrying on with her prior business. Business that includes cleaning her gun and not being disturbed.

"The Machine doesn't  _make_  mistakes, Ms. Shaw," Harold informs her tightly, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together angrily.

"Well, if you have so much  _faith_  in Her, Harold, why don't  _you_  look," Shaw shoots back venomously. At seeing the frustration in his eyes, she smirks.

"Am I interrupting?"

* * *

 

Shaw peers up as Harold turns around, and both find Root Groves headed their way, dashing smile on her face and slick amusement dancing in her eyes.

"No," Shaw tells her, casting a warning glare Harold's way.

"I think we could actually use your help, Ms. Groves," he tacks on, barely suppressing a smirk as Shaw's eyes burn into the side of his skull.

"Don't you mean  _Shaw_ ," she coos playfully, leaning over the back of the bench and draping her arms over Shaw's shoulders. As Root rests her chin atop Shaw's head, Shaw clenches her jaw and rolls her eyes. Harold's lips part as if to correct himself, then he stops, thinks, and shakes his head free of the near attempt.

"There is a new number," Harold informs her, and she adjusts her easy hold on Shaw to look at him better. "But Ms. Shaw thinks it's a waste of time to look."

"He forgot to mention that it's a missing toddler." Shaw adds angrily.

"A  _toddler_?" Root echoes, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Doesn't the Machine only detect premeditated acts of terror?" Harold heaves out an annoyed sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. Then, he stalks away, tearing a piece of printer paper off his desk before returning and holding it out to her.

Leaning her left forearm on Shaw's shoulder, she reaches up with the right, allowing the page to sit before both Shaw and her faces.

Shaw takes a half glance at it before her eyes flicker elsewhere, not caring enough to skim whatever propaganda Harold's printed to win the war. However, with the small flicker she did catch, she becomes- admittedly- curious. Eyes set back, she finds a printed amber alert. There is a colored photo at the top, depicting a little girl with silky, chestnut hair and sapphire green eyes. A large smile lights her entire face, complete with the front bottom tooth missing. Peeling her eyes away from the picture, Shaw quickly reads the print bellow.

 **Name: Jean-Louise Finch  
** **Age: Four (4)  
** **Gender: Female  
** **Last Seen: September 2, 2015  
** **Description: Straight brown hair; thirty-eight (38) inches tall, approx. thirty-six (36)  pounds, green eyes. Last seen at her aunt's residence on 52nd St. and 39th Rd. New York.  
** **If anyone sees or finds Jean-Louise Finch, you are asked to call her Aunt at the number below.**

At the bottom of the page are fringe-like slips dangling with phone numbers, a few ripped off.

"How do you expect anyone to find her if you're tearing down all the flyers, Harold?" Shaw asks with frigid sarcasm, looking up at him with haughty eyes.

"Because we have a slightly better chance of finding her than your  _average_  citizen," he shoots back with a matching tone, but Shaw's face remains unfazed.

"Okay, where do we start looking?"

For the second time within the hour, both Harold Finch and Sameen Shaw turn to face Root- each sporting their own amount of surprise. Root peers up first at Harold before looking back to Shaw, then gives Shaw a quizzical face.

"What?" Root asks, almost defensively, handing the paper back to Harold.

"You're really going to go find a kid that every government agency is searching the city for?" Shaw asks, more tired than cruel. The hint of a smile pulls up at the corner of of Root's mouth as she stands, reaching into her back pocket and protruding a set of keys.

"You drive," she tells Shaw, wicked glint in her eyes. "I'll navigate."

_________\ If Your Number's Up /________

After taking to the streets twenty minutes ago, Root checks her phone one last time before stashing it into her pocket and telling Shaw to take a left.

"I'm kinda surprised  _you're_  not the one who agreed to this," Root says suddenly, words coming out as if she's thinking about them just as they surface.

"Oh yeah?" Shaw remarks, not taking her eyes from the road. "And why is that?" Root gives a nonchalant shrug from the passenger seat, slouching back and letting her pocket knife drag lazy loops across the glove box.

"John drops the word 'kid' and you set up a sniper station to shoot up the biggest drug deal in the last four years. Harold says it and you sit on a bench."

"I didn't do it for the  _kid_ ," Shaw spits back defensively, grip tightening on the wheel. "I did it because I missed shooting my  _gun_." Root widens her eyes, not believing a word, and sits up.

"We're here," she informs Shaw, who promptly pulls into the parking lot of a large, brightly colored building. The outside is painted in the primary colors, made to look like a child's play house more than a store, with a large business name painted in childish scrawl along the front. The parking lot is half full, with children and their parents zooming in and out of the glass double doors like ants scurrying to and from the colony. _A toy shop_ , Shaw thinks to herself with a bitter laugh.  _How fitting._

Once Shaw is parked, Root steps out of the vehicle, smoothing down her shirt and waiting for Shaw to round the car before heading towards the doors.

"And why not  _you_ , huh?" Shaw asks, somehow annoyed at the fact that she would be the one to break for a child. "Why is it so hard to believe  _you_  would go out of your way for a kid?"

"Kids,  _people_ ," Root responds with a dreamlike quality and a sly smile Shaw's way, "aren't really my thing. You just got lucky."

" _I_  got lucky," Shaw huffs indignantly under her breath before clucking her teeth.

As the doors come closer and the sound of children gone wild in their own little anarchy grow near, Root puts on her most child-friendly smile, while Shaw merely shoves her hands farther into her pockets.

The doors open into an alternate dimension. The gray colors of New York are replaced for a visible spectrum explosion. The sounds of car horns and swearing passers is all but forgotten, leaving loud music and laughter in its place. Every adult has transformed into children, and they run down the foam matted floors like they are late for a play date instead of a business meeting. Shelves line the store like skyscrapers and an indoor jungle gym is their city hall. It's like a carnival playground collision- a dream for children and a safe haven for adults. And Sameen Shaw hates it.

"What the Hell  _is_  this place?" She grumbles, the closest to mortified she's ever been as a little boy with chocolate rimming his mouth and snot trickling from his nose screams at her before running in the opposite direction. Root shoots her a small, affectionate smile before heading into the war zone, with Shaw following grudgingly behind.

Shaw pulls out her phone, comparing the photo on her screen against every kid that passes by. Needless to say, she has whiplash before they even make their way down the first aisle. They pass toy trucks and plush elephants as tall as Shaw herself; they weave their way around a play house filled with dolls, and duck and weave to avoid foam bullets as they fly from toy guns. Finally, when Shaw is at her wit's end, Root lurches forward with sudden purpose.

Shaw has to jog to keep up, and after a moment, sees where Root is headed. On the ground, sitting between to large displays, is a small child holding a teddy bear. As she sits there talking to it, Shaw checks the photo again. With a sigh, she stows the cell in her pocket before leaning against the closest display.

As the women cast shadows over the little girl, she looks up at them curiously. Her lips pull together, brow knitting defensively as she clutches the bear tighter. Shaw watches as Root kneels down before her, sitting back on her heels and wearing a soft smile.

"Are you Jean-Louise?" Root asks kindly, tilting her head to study the child further. She shifts slightly between the displays before answering.

"Jean-Louise  _Finch_ ," she corrects, pulling her chin up a little higher, as if saying it all gives her pride. Root's smile widens into an unforced grin.

"We know a Finch," Root tells her sociably, peering up to Shaw as if to include her. Shaw, however, wants no part of the small talk.

"I don't think your Finch is related to me," the little girl says, before pausing a moment. "My mom named me after a book." Root nods, acknowledging that she's heard of it, and the little girl seems to trust her a little more. "You can just call me Jean."

"And  _you_  can call me Root," Root responds, sticking out a hand. Giggling, the little girl shakes it. "This is Sam." Shaw's lip twitches automatically at being introduced as anything other than Shaw, but can't stay disgruntled for long as Jean looks up at her with large, innocent eyes.

Finally, Shaw gives the smallest wave down at her.

"Hey, Jean," Root says, placing her hands on her knees. "You hungry?" Jean nods at once, brown hair fanning out around her face. "Let's go get something to eat."

 _Yeah_ , Shaw thinks to herself with bitter humor,  _like she's not going to scream 'stranger danger' any second now._

She doesn't. Instead, she stands up to her full height of just over three feet, bear still held in one little hand. When Root stands as well, Jean instantly wraps her small fingers around Root's pinkie. Shaw looks to her, more impressed than she'd ever admit, and Root throws her a cunning half-smile. They make it a quarter way down the aisle without a problem- but not a single step farther.

"Wait!" Jean squeaks up to them, head straight back as she peers up at Root with wide eyes. She raises her free hand up straight, showing her the teddy bear. "This isn't mine." Root gives her a quizzical look.

"Whose is it, then?" She asks in a patient tone, purposely ignoring the price tag on it. Jean shrugs her shoulders before becoming visibly upset.

"I used to have one," she says with a tiny child's sigh, looking down at the bear. "It was at my house, but they took it." Root and Shaw share a glance before Root clears her throat, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible.

"Who took it?" She asks sweetly, and Jean points forward with Root's hand.

"Them."

Shaw's head snaps up at once, where she sees three police men meandering into the store, hands holding close to their belts. Shaw instinctively takes a step in front of the girl, blocking her from view, all the while sharing a silent  _'crap'_  with Root, among other, fouler words.

Root kneels quickly before Jean, a hand on each of her petite shoulders as she looks her in the eyes. "How about... we let Sam take the bear for a minute so she can get it for you, and you can help me find the car." Jean nods, then holds the bear up for Shaw. Shaw gives her a tight smile before taking it, then walks towards the counter casually. Back at the front of the store, the old mayhem resurfaces. The kids are like race cars, and she's in the middle of their track.

After strategically picking her way to checkout, Shaw watches from the corner of her eye as Root ushers Jean discreetly from the store. Once beyond the doors, Shaw gives a silent sigh of relief, then hands the toy over to the employee behind the register.

___________\ We'll Find You /___________

"Is this your Finch?" Jean asks Root as she stands just behind Root's leg, staring up at Harold. He looks at her without much emotion, lip quirking in thought before he approaches the slightest bit. Then, he awkwardly makes it to the best squatting position he can muster, coming nearly eye level to the four year old.

"That is correct," he tells her, giving a brief smile. "You can call me Mr. Finch." Jean shakes her head feverishly at once, hair flying into a hazardous mess.

"My  _dad_  is Mr. Finch," she tells Finch definitively. "You  _can't_  have the same name as my dad." He looks taken aback, peering up to Root before his eyes find their way back to Jean. Still, he is at a loss for words.

"His name is Harold," Root tells her, smiling adoringly at the child. Jean had talked the entire way to the station, telling Root about everything. From day care to her Aunt Holly and her favorite color, Root seems to know everything about the child. Jean smiles, revealing the space of her missing tooth, and sounds it out.

"Hah-rolled," she says slowly, thinking each syllable before nodding. "Harold."

"Uh, Jean," Harold says, "would you mind letting me talk with Root alone for a moment?" The little girl's shy smile falls away instantly, stubborn purse to her lips meeting narrowed eyes as she holds onto Root's leg a little tighter. Root can't help but smile, placing an arm over the child's small shoulders in assurance.

"Root," John calls from the entrance, walking into the subway station. He looks over the scene with a slight smirk. "Something you want to  _tell_  me?" Root tilts her head his way with an amused smile, and he gives a quick chuckle before moving along. Behind him, Detective Lionel Fusco enters the station, only to do a double take.

"Hey!" He bellows indignantly. "The Hell do  _you_  have her for? I've been out canvassing this city for the last  _eighteen_  hours." Jean looks to him and gasps at once, pressing herself tightly into Root, using her little hand to pull Root's in closer to herself. Her eyes go wide as she goes sheet white, and a trembling squeak escapes her.

"Didn't know  _homicide_  took care of amber alerts," Root responds with a frigid edge to her tone, warning Fusco to tread carefully around Jean. He gives an indignant huff in response.

"Ms. Groves," Harold says in an insistent voice, standing once more with a serious countenance. "There are things you need to know about this... case." Root looks down at Jean, who in turn peers back up at her. She still has a smear of ketchup at the corner of her mouth from the hotdog she'd ordered on the way to the terminal, only adding to the charming effect of the little girl. At last, Root caves, knowing that the information can only help Jean in the end.

"Hey, uh, kid," Root's attention snaps to her other side, where Shaw has crept up without a sound. "I wanna show you something." There is a tug on Root's pant leg, Jean's eyes asking if it's okay, and Root smiles.

"I'm sure Sam has something really fun for you," Root tells Jean encouragingly, easing her from behind her leg and wiping the ketchup away quickly. "Go ahead." With Root clearing it, Jean more than cooperatively latches onto Shaw, hanging on her with a silly smile. Shaw forces out a half-decent grin at the child before her eyes come back to Root.

"You better be  _quick_ ," Shaw warns her in a low, fatal voice before heading for the subway cart. Jean hangs onto her legs, acting as a dead weight and laughing as Shaw struggles to walk. After only a few steps, Shaw picks Jean up by the back of her shirt, yanking her away like a piece of Scotch tape. The girl squeals in surprise, and begins laughing joyously as Shaw holds her out at an arms length the rest of the way.

Root brings her attention back to Harold, who looks ready to burst with the explosive information buried inside.

"Jean's parents are dead," he says bluntly, the first bomb detonating with ground shattering force.

"What?" Root asks, not believing it. "She told me about her mom in the ca-"

"They died two months ago. They were  _murdered_  in their home; police found Jean hiding in the bedroom closet." Root feels ice slicking her veins, and all of her grows cold.

"She didn't- she didn't  _see_  it, did she?" Root asks. No, it's more like telling him, telling Harold to say she hadn't seen a think. He's quiet a minute, eyes growing sad.

"Everything, I'm afraid. Not that she understands it, though." Root runs a hand through her hair, unsure how to handle this. Rage courses through her, lighting her body on fire as she finds herself hot enough to kill.

"Who did it," she demands, but Harold merely gives a shrug.

"It's unknown; however, considering what her father was into, it's an easy jump between them and the BrotherHood. Jean's an eye witness to a murder, and if it was them, they will do  _anything_  to stay out of jail."

"Even kill a kid," Root spits disgustedly, feeling sick now. Her head swirls and her vision swims as she tries to grasp anything sane.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Groves," Harold responds gravely.

"Where is she going to go? We can't throw her to the aunt without stopping the threat," Root tells him, shaking her head. She thinks a moment, then continues. "The cops are another possibility," Root tells him.

"And why's that?" Fusco asks heatedly. Root turns to face him with ice in her eyes and daggers in her words.

"Because when she saw you she became  _terrified_."

"Oh, what? I can't be a good guy because a kid doesn't like me?" He retorts.

"Says the dirty cop," John remarks jokingly, and Fusco's ears redden.

"That was a  _while_  ago," he mutters in defense.

"Also," Root says, all her fury pressing down on him, "when we were in the store, she said cops took her teddy bear." Fusco's eyes widen in angry disbelief.

"You can cross the feds off your list," he tells her. "I took it."

"You  _took_  it?" Root echoes back, shocked.

"It was a  _crime scene_. That was  _evidence_."

"Stealing a kid's teddy bear, Lionel?" Shaw calls from within the station. "That's a new low, don't you think?" She smirks as he winds up, cranking until his engine implodes.

"Does my job mean  _nothin_ ' to you people? It's what. I had. To  _do_."

"Getting back to the point at hand..." Harold interrupts cautiously, waiting for the tension in the room to simmer down before directing his focus back on Root. "I think it would be best if you and Ms. Shaw protect Jean, while Mr. Reese and Detective Fusco search for those responsible." Root rolls the plan about in her mind for a few seconds, then nods. With that, she starts towards the subway cart, trying to clear her head of the horrors she'd just heard.  _Someone had killed her family in cold blood just for her to see, and now they want to kill her because of it? I don't think so._

Stepping into the cart, Root finds Shaw sitting on the ground with Jean in her lap- Shaw smiling and Jean laughing- as they pet Bear, who looks about as close to heaven that is earthly possible. Seeing Shaw's smile and hearing such a carefree laugh allows the dark thoughts in her head to slide away, and she finds herself beginning to unwind.

"Having fun?" Root asks with a poorly concealed smile, question directed at Jean, although Root's eyes are humorously on Shaw. When Shaw sees her standing there, there is a moment of being caught before she composes herself. Clearing her throat, Shaw acts as nonchalant as possible.

"Root!" Jean squeals, wiggling her way from Shaw and throwing herself Root's way. Root stoops over before the girl has time to cling to her legs,  bringing her hands under Jean's arms and lifting her up. The child smiles from ear to ear as Root slings her up to her hip before sitting down beside Shaw. Jean squirms against Root, making herself comfortable on Root's lap before continuing to run her small hands through Bear's fur. Root leaves a hand around her waist, the other running subconsciously through Jean's tangled hair as she tries to work out the knots.

She feels a tap on her shoulder and turns her face towards Shaw, who looks at her curiously. It's as if she can see the dark clouds as they roll back into Root's mind, but her eyes say that they can discuss it all later. Root gives her a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes before looking back to Jean. A moment later, she hears Shaw shifting, and a hand comes tot rest casually on her knee.

_____________\ It's a Sin /_____________

It had been three days since Shaw and Root had taken Jean in, and Root couldn't be happier. Somehow, a scenario that had never occurred to her suddenly became the only think she could think about: a family.  _But that's not what this is_. She had to remind herself a thousand times a day, but each time she did, the voice in her head that uttered it seemed smaller and smaller. She and Shaw had gotten married nearly a year ago- she'd though that was unfeasible. This was the same thing, so maybe- just maybe- this could be another entelechy. Jean appeared more than at home in their apartment, already claiming the extra bedroom as her own, and taping drawings to the walls. Root found herself falling in love with this four year old, and knew- despite Shaw's refusal at the slightest prompting- that she cares for Jean as well. As bad as it sounded, Root had times where she almost hoped the threat wouldn't go away.

 _But it's all foolish thinking_ , Root thinks to herself as she rinses the soap from her hair in the shower. However, the voice in her head is little more than a whisper now. Turning off the faucet, she steps from the tub, wrapping in a towel quickly and running a brush through her hair.

Although it was their mission to keep Jean off the radar, Root and Shaw had taken her out once or twice to a park or book store. Something to get her out of the house. And in these three days, Root listened to anything Jean-Louise Finch told her- and she told her everything.

Like the bookshop, for example. While they were wandering the endless sea of books, Jean had told Root all about the books she liked, and how she'd only come across books in the months since living with her aunt. Root learned that Jean's parents were almost never home, leaving her in daycare for half the day or more, just to be given dinner and sent to bed for the other half. She told Root how she'd stay up and draw instead, but that she likes books so much more. Root also came to know that Jean preferred to call her parents Jennifer and Mr. Finch over mom and dad, and that she was in no hurry for them to pick her up from Root's house.

Root begins to brush her teeth, all the while looking in the mirror. She can see the slightest bit of darkness under her eyes, but has never seen her eyes themselves more alive. More happy. More complete. The light bruising comes from the three nights she's spent up. The first night, after only a half hour with the lights out, Jean came creeping into Root and Shaw's room, tapping Root gingerly on the shoulder.

 _'I had a nightmare,'_  she said. And that was that. Root walked her back to the other room, and Jean plopped down on the bed, eyes haunted. Root hadn't noticed the shadows under the girl's eyes herself until then, and it looked as if she hadn't slept in two months. It turns out she just about hadn't. She recounted a nightmare of watching two men dressed all in black wandering her house with guns as she watched from behind a closet door, and she told Root with harrowing details of what they did. Of what happened to her parents in the dream. Of the blood that splattered across her old teddy bear as he lay helpless just beyond the closet door. Root sat with her after that, reading her books and telling her fabricated stories she'd make up on the fly, until Jean would finally fall asleep in her arms. Some nights it took only a half hour, others it took until four a.m. Each time she would tell Root about the dream, and each time Root was glad that Jean didn’t think it was anything more.

"Root!  _Root_!" A tiny voice pipes up outside of the bathroom door, jarring Root from the recounts of the nights before.

"Yeah?" Root calls back, keeping quiet to hear through the door.

"You have to come here!" Jean squeaks out, and Root smiles.

"Give me one second," Root calls back before dressing quickly and pulling open the door. On the other side, she sees Jean basically vibrating with excitement, vibrant green eyes drawn up in anticipation.

"Come on!" She says, grabbing Root's hand and charging forward. Root smiles wide, allowing the little girl to tug her along; through the kitchen, and out to the living room, where Shaw sits on the couch. At hearing them, she looks away from the television, her eyes sending a thrill down Root's spine. Her smile falters the slightest bit as her heart picks up, but the two only get a moment before Shaw's gaze returns to the screen.

Released from Shaw's trance, Root's attention snaps back to Jean, who's beaming a pearly white smile and bouncing up and down excitedly.

"I drew another picture," she tells Root happily, reaching to the coffee table before holding a piece of paper up to Root. Root takes it, turning it over to see the drawing as she kneels down to be at Jean's side. What greats her on the page are three multi-colored stick figures dressed in boxy clothing. The first is tall, with brown loops for hair and large eyes with a crooked smile that continues far off of her face. She's clothed in all black, face colored in yellow with very little of the crayon remaining in the lines. The next is a very small figure with straight brown lines for hair, lopsided dots for eyes, and another wild smile. This one has blue scribbles over the legs for pants and red scribbles for a shirt, alongside a yellow face. The last is a figure whose height is in the middle of the first two. This one wheres all black as well, small eyes and lopsided smile, with a black half-circle and a short stick protruding from the side as hair. Above each figure reads a name in sloppy, unpracticed penmanship. Root with three 'o's, Jean, and Sam with a back turned 's.'

"Do you like it?" Jean asks hopefully, all the while Root feels her throat closing up. She nods, softly at first and then vigorously, trying to find her voice and unable to take her eyes from the picture.

"I love it," Root replies, smiling as her eyes blur. "It's beautiful." Jean beams at the compliment, coming around behind Root and draping her arms around Root's neck as she peers over her shoulder.

"Look," she says, pointing a little finger to the paper. "I'm holding your hand, and Sam is wearing all black because she always wears black, and your finger nails are black, see?" At further inspection, Root sees that- on the three black crayon fingers each hand has- there are black squares on top of them.

"Wow," Root says in an awed tone, blinking roughly a few times, forcing herself to remain composed. "This is  _amazing_."

"It's for you,"Jean tells her sheepishly, and Root feels another wave of heat threatening to overtake her eyes as her heart lurches in her chest.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," Root tells her, turning her head to the side to smile gratefully at Jean. Then, placing it down carefully on the coffee table, she asks, "Want to watch some TV with Sam?"

"Okay," Jean replies. Root stands, transitioning easily to the couch, where she lays down, leaving her head in Shaw's lap. Shaw looks at her a moment without a hint of emotion, then cracks a smile, eyes searching Root's before she peers away. Root feels a flutter in her stomach, but all the butterflies are crushed a second later as Jean jumps onto her unexpectedly. The air leaves Root in a half-wheeze, half-laugh, and Jean lays stomach first, head on Root's abdomen as she directs her gaze to the television screen. Root rests one arm over her back as the other toys lightly with her hair.

Within minutes, Root can see Jean beginning to doze off and a thankful smile surfaces on her face. Fixing her gaze up, her heart leaps to her throat as she finds Shaw already looking at her.

"You okay?" Shaw murmurs, voice less than a breath as it reaches Root's ears. Root slips her hand from Jean's hair, bringing it to the back of Shaw's neck. She begins leading Shaw down to her, who doesn't at all resist, until Shaw is close enough to give her a quick kiss.

"M _hmm_ ," Root replies, eyes still closed as she feels Shaw's breath on her face and hair in her fingers. When she opens her eyes, she sees something in Shaw's that sends butterflies surging to her chest. To make it worse, Shaw's mouth lifts in a quaint smile, face telling enough to make Root glow as Shaw slowly pulls away.

Root hears a child's yawn, and casts her gaze down to see Jean's eyes fluttering shut. Root brushes a lock of hair from Jean's face lightly, and Jean gives a sleepy smile.

"Night, Jean," Root whispers to her.

"Night, Mom."

______________\ To Kill a Mockingbird /______________

"We've got them, Root. The BrotherHood isn't going to come after her anymore." John Reese's statement haunts Root as it rattles through her head. "Fusco is calling her aunt now. I'll stop by, pick the kid up, and take her to the station."

"No," Root responds, shaking her head. "No, I'm going, too. So is Shaw."

"But you guys aren't cops," John tells her, not rudely, but it still stings.

"I'll figure something out. Find a place that isn't the station, and we'll meet you there." With that, Root hangs up. Dropping the phone to her lap, she feels like dull scissors have been taken to her heart, trying to cut it out. She knew- somewhere inside she knew- that this was going to happen. But part of her believed it wouldn't.

Grabbing her jacket, Root rummages through the pockets, finding the old FBI badge from missions ago still in the secret pocket sewed into its lining.

"Hey, where ya going?" Shaw asks, coming out of the bedroom. With one look at Root, Shaw's eyes flicker with disbelief. "It's not..." She trails off, and Root nods. Sighing, Shaw rolls her jaw, looking away. She remains silent a minute. "Okay," she says at last. "Let's go."

And so Root woke up Jean, handed her her teddy bear, and put her drawings and three books in a bag. Then, they all left.

Shaw drives down the road, looking into the back seat every few seconds. There, she sees Root sitting beside Jean, who peers out the window without a care in the world.

"Why are we up so early?" Jean asks, yawning.

"It's a surprise," Root tells her, straining to sound cheery. Her eyes connect with Shaw's in the mirror, and she instantly looks away. Taking one of the books from the bag, Root pulls a pen from her pocket and begins to jot something down on the inside cover. Jean, curious, watches her.

"What are you writing?" She asks, stretching her neck as far as she can to see. Root takes one look at her and can't help but smile. Capping the pen, she hands the book to Jean, whose eyes fall on it like starving wolves.

"Shoot all the blue-jays you want, if you can hit-.. 'em, but re.. member it's a sin to kill a mock-..ing-bird." She stops a moment, absorbing it all. "Where's that from?" Root gives her a kind smile, suddenly finding it hard to speak.

"It's from a book," she tells her at last. "You'll read it some day."

"How will I know what book?" Jean asks.

"You'll know it when you see it," Root replies.

Shaw stops the car, pulling it into park with such reluctance that it looks like she might just hit the gas and speed off. Root wishes she would. Instead, all three get out of the car- Jean instantly holding onto Root's hand- as they meet John and Fusco at the corner of the street. A few minutes later, a woman in a tan jacket begins to approach from down the road. Root waits for her to get a little closer. She can see the woman's straight brown hair and green eyes, and knows somehow that this is it. Swallowing hard, she kneels down before Jean, putting her hands on each of her upper arms.

"You're aunt is coming for you," Root tells her, and Jean smiles.

"Aunt Holly?" She asks excitedly; Root nods.

"Yeah, your Aunt Holly."

"I can't  _wait_  for her to meet you," Jean tells her happily. "She's nice. You can be friends." Root smiles through the pain in her chest, fighting to breathe as the weight of the world presses against her ribcage.

"I wish we could, kiddo," Root tells her honestly. "But I don't think it'll work like that."

"Oh," Jean says, deflating a little. Root looks over towards the sidewalk and sees Jean's aunt only yards away. And- by the looks of it- she sees her niece.

"When your aunt gets here, you're going to have to go home with her, okay?" Root tells her, pressing her lips together as the pain rips into her heart so hard it becomes physical. Her throat feels like it will close entirely at any second, and her fingers start the slightest of quakes.

"Okay," Jean says, nodding. "When are you going to pick me back up?" Root closes her eyes, needing to breath but unable to. She swallows, closes her eyes tighter, then opens them again.

"I- I can't pick you back up." Jean's face drops immediately, eyes instantly starting to shine.

"No- n- no you  _have_  to pick me up," Jean insists, lip beginning to quiver. "You  _have_  to come back for me." Root feels her own eyes welling, and knows she won't be able to hold them back forever.

"I'm sorry," she tells Jean, every bone in her body aching, "but I can't."

"You  _can_!" Jean yells, tears beginning to leak down her cheeks. Root shakes her head, lips contorting in pain.

"You have to stay with your Aunt Holly."

"I don't  _want_  to stay with Aunt Holly," Jean wails, tears bursting out as she throws herself at Root. She wraps her small arms tightly around Root's neck, determined not to let go. Root brings her hands around Jean's waist, hugging her close as a tear finally gets caught up in her eyelashes. "I want to stay with  _you_. Don't make me go." Root takes in a deep breath, looking up at Shaw. Shaw's eyes are apologetic, knowing she can do nothing but helplessly stand there as the aunt only gets closer.

Closing her eyes again, Root pulls Jean in a little tighter. "Your Aunt Holly, she- she'll take good care of you. She loves you."

"But  _I_  love  _you_!" Jean screams at her, eyes soaking into Root's shirt. "I don't  _want_  to  _go_!" Her words begin to blend together in a mumble as she cries too hard to be understood. After a minute, she sniffles. "I want to stay with you," she whispers.

Root can feel warm tears slowly crawling down her cheeks, the only warm thing she feels. Everything else is cold.

" And I want  _you_  to stay with  _me_ ," Root assures her in the same quiet tone. "And it's so  _hard_  to explain, but you just have to trust me."

"Don't leave me, Root," Jean whimpers with the sadness of a kicked puppy as she latches onto Root tighter. "Please."

"Jean? Jean, Sweetie? It's Aunt Holly; are you alright?" Her aunt's voice travels over to them, the sound like the siren that signals the end of the world.

" _No_ , please Root, no,  _no_ , no,  _please_ ," Jean begs into Root's shirt, tears still streaming down her face. Root swallows down the painful lump in her throat, then brings a hand to the side of Jean's face. She brings Jean's eyes to hers, and feels a dagger pierce her heart at just how red rimmed and puffy they are. Her nose is red and her entire body shakes from the agony of sorrow.

"It- it's going to be okay," Root tells her, breaths coming in and out shakily. "I- I promise." She kisses Jean's forehead, studying her face one last time. Then, she's being pulled away, gently but firmly by Fusco. His face has a thousand apologies on it as he looks at Root, and she tries to understand.

"No!" Jean shrieks, becoming a waterfall once again as she clings to Root with every ounce of fight she has. Gripping her neck, gripping her hair, gripping her shirt. All the way until her small hands only touch air, but still, she reaches Root's way, heart shattering.

Shaw and John look at each other, unsure where else to rest their eyes. As much as Shaw would like to, she doesn't dare cast her gaze down to Root. It was hard enough looking atRoot when she wasn't looking back, she has no idea how she would handle it if she could see Root's eyes now. And neither of the two can stand to look at Jean. To see her crying and reaching back against Lionel as he hands her over to her real family. Her legal family. Little does the aunt know how much of a family the girl has here.

Five agonizing minutes later, and Jean and her aunt are gone in their car. This is the end. At leas they can say they did a background check on the aunt- that they did all they could to ensure the child would have the best life possible. Breaking hearts just happened to be compensation for it.

Lionel walks back, hands in his pockets and eyes down. When he finally peers up, he looks from Shaw to John. His eyes search after that, brown knitting slightly as he approaches.

"Where's Root?" He asks, and the Mayhem Twins direct their eyes down.  _Gone_. Shaw does a quick 360, but sees her wife no where in sight.

____________\ Person of Interest /___________

After looking around at any place she thought Root might be, and then all the places she didn't, Sameen Shaw walks into their apartment as the last rays of sunlight filter through the windows. The apartment is dark save for the violent red that bathes the walls from the setting sun, and Shaw moves through the space silently. Listening.

As she takes tentative steps through the kitchen, she hears hard breathing from the bedroom, and instantly heads there with purpose. Opening the door inaudibly, Shaw finds Root's form curled up on their bed, facing the setting sun. Her heart is crippled, any wings she ever had severed with a machete, and she is left to bleed out on the floor.

"Root," Shaw calls quietly, slipping her shoes off before coming over to the bed. Root doesn't respond, far too despondent to hear a word from the outside world. Still, Shaw tries. Shaw eases herself onto the mattress, sliding over until she is sitting cross-legged at Root's side. From this close, Shaw can feel Root's body heaving as she cries. She'd never seen Root like this before, and is unsure how to handle it. With anyone else, she would just leave them to work things out on their own, but she can't leave Root alone with this. _Not Root._  Shaw scrambles her brain, trying to figure out a way to deal with the situation. When she finally has an idea, she rolls her eyes at just how ridiculous it seems.

"Hey,  _Sweetie_ ," Shaw says to her silently, bringing her mouth close to Root's ear. "You busy?" The line isn't enough for an answer; however, it breaks Root from her trance. She wipes her eye with the heel of her hand before dropping it back down to her chest. Shaw, unsure whether or not to call it progress, presses her nose to the crook of Root's neck, closing her eyes against the red rays.

Still propped up by one arm, Shaw slips the other around Root's waist. To her surprise, instead of feeling the fabric of her shirt, her hand skims along a piece of paper. Curious, she sits up, opening her eyes and leaning over Root to see it. Root clutches it close to her chest, head bowed and forehead resting against the top of it. With the stealth of a panther, Shaw grabs hold of a corner before easing it from Root's grip. When Root realizes what she's doing, she tightens her hold on the page.

Shaw lets go, but brings her hand to Root's side, pulling it towards her and flopping Root over onto her back. She looks absolutely distraught. Her eyes are as red as the setting sun and swollen, the makeup running down her cheeks leaving black stains behind. Her nose is crimson and her lips are chapped, all the while she clings to the drawing.

"C'mon, Root," Shaw says to her in a soothing tone. "It's hard enough to tell what it is now, the last thing we need is for you to cry on it and smear it even more." She gets a small, brief smile out of Root on that one. But she takes it.

Trying again for the drawing, Root lets it go easily this time. Reaching over Root, Shaw places it on her nightstand before focusing all of her attention back to Root. She sees as Root tries to collect herself, but knows she is too far beyond reasoning with herself.

"Hey," Shaw says, using her thumb to swipe a tear from Root's face. Root merely looks at her, near the point of breaking. Easing herself down, she lays completely on her side, watching Root's face a moment longer. Opening her arms the slightest bit, she says, "Come here."

She needn't tell Root twice, who rolls into her less than a second later, burying her face into Shaw's neck and wrapping her arms around Shaw's back. Shaw, after the initial shock wears off, slides her arms around Root's waist. She holds her there until she's sure Root's fallen asleep. She holds her there until the moon passes through their window. She holds her there for the sake of holding on, knowing the last thing Root wants in the world right now is to have to let go.


End file.
